


Man's Best Friend (is My Worst Enemy)

by MayvinFreewood



Category: Rooster Teeth/Achievement Hunter RPF
Genre: Domestic, Fluff, Humor, M/M, Mavin, prompt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-13
Updated: 2014-05-13
Packaged: 2018-01-24 14:31:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,699
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1608539
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MayvinFreewood/pseuds/MayvinFreewood
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Gavin is about to move in with Michael, but what Michael doesn't know is that Gavin is bringing another guest.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Man's Best Friend (is My Worst Enemy)

**Author's Note:**

> A prompt from imagineyourotp.tumblr.com
> 
> Prompt: Imagine person A of your OTP realizing they have to win over person B’s pet.

Gavin and Michael had been hitting it off quite well—there was a definite connection as soon as they introduced themselves to one another. They both heavily enjoyed video games, getting drunk, and acting stupid. Six months ago, neither of them would have ever admitted to being jovial about sharing a small one bedroom apartment with another man. But today was the day, and Gavin was moving in with Michael… little did Michael know, Gavin wasn’t the only one moving in that day.

It was then that Michael realised they had spent the majority of their time hanging out at work or in his dinky apartment (mainly because Gavin lived with a family of three and the sound of the headboard hitting the wall wasn’t one to subject to a small child). But, nonetheless, Gavin meandered in with a small kennel and an equally small suitcase.

“You didn’t shove Millie in the cage, did you? Geoff will definitely notice when his kid turns up missing,” Michael started, offering to take the suitcase.

“No! This is Faffydill, my cat,” Gavin held up the kennel and made kissy faces into the front of the box.

“Gavin, that’s a dog,” Michael laughed, noticing a wrinkly, bug-eyed face staring through the bars at him. Of course Gavin would have a small, ugly dog.

“Cat, dog—they both have four legs and bark at cars,” he said, setting the cage gently on the floor.

As he was going to let loose the catdog inside, Michael stopped him, “Woah, wait. I don’t even know if I can have another pet. The landlord was already pretty pissed that you were moving in.”

“Oh, come on Michael! He’s quiet, aren’t you, Faffydoo!”

“I thought his name was Faffydill,” Michael sighed, heading towards the bedroom to unpack Gavin’s things. Of course, the bubbley Brit was at his heels, practically begging him not to throw Faffy out onto the streets, because he was liable to become a drug lord and get in with the wrong crowds, then slander Gavin’s good name because he threw him out in the first place.

“Alright, alright! We’ll keep him, but if he starts barking at shit-fuck o’clock, I might accidentally drop him off at the Chinese place down the street,” Michael grasped Gavin’s shoulders to stop his flailing and planted a kiss on his forehead, which subsequently shut him up as well. Briefly, anyway.

“Oh, Michael! Thank you! We should look for a new place to live, anyway! With a full kitchen and bathroom! Then no one will kick out little Fluffydoo!” he was nearly overcome with joy as he scurried off to get the kennel and release Faffydill, for whom Michael felt momentarily sorry. The poor thing was a catdog with a name that changed with the wind, he couldn’t imagine how idiotic the pet of a dopey git might be.

It was soon found out though, as a pug came bounding towards Michael with its tongue hanging out of its mouth. It skidded to a stop before the redhead and stared up at him—with one eye anyway. The other seemed to be exploring the rest of the house.

“That’s a good boy, Floopydill!” Gavin cooed, joyous to see his loved ones interacting so well. Until Faffydill decided to piss on Michael’s shoes.

“YOU SON OF A BITCH!” Michael shrieked, preparing to kick the mutt down the hallway, but was halted by his boyfriend’s screech of terror.

“Michael! Don’t you dare!” the Brit scrambled to pick up his beloved, who was spinning out on the linoleum.

“What the fuck is his problem? Does he need a god damn diaper?” Michael was fuming as he marched into the bathroom to take off his sneakers.

“He’s just nervous, Michael! I’d probably piss all over the place when I got nervous if it didn’t draw so much attention!” he was still trying to soothe the dog, whose eyes had gone even crazier with the sudden excitement.

“Whatever,” Michael grumbled, taking the opportunity to strip out of his clothes in preparation for bed. Gavin had decided that moving in at night would be “more romantic”, but in reality they hadn’t had any other opportunity to do so.

The two of them crawled into bed together, Gavin of course was the little spoon (though Faffydill may as well be considered the little spoon with the way he was being cuddled), and drifted off into their first night of domestic bliss.

The next morning was a bloody nightmare. Apparently Faffydill got incredibly nervous overnight, as Michael’s stack of work clothes were absolutely drenched.

“I’M GOING TO KILL THAT FUCKING DOG!” he roared, angrily shoving the clothes into a plastic bag as to drop them off at the Laundromat on the way to work.

“Michael…” Gavin cooed. His voice was weapon, and he was not afraid to use it. Michael jerked around to attempt to glare, but his expression softened as he caught Gavin’s doe-eyed look.

“Don’t ‘Michael’ me…” he tried to keep a stern expression, but was quickly defeated, “God dammit, Gav. I don’t think your stupid dog likes me,” he sighed, scowling at the crazy eyed bastard that was sleeping on _his_ pillow.

“Then make him like you! Like you did me!” Gavin danced around the small space they had in the bedroom, grabbing at his own (unsoiled) clothes.

“If he knew what was good for him, he’d fucking worship me,” Michael grumbled, raising his voice in the direction of the nuisance, as if a change in tone would initiate the dog’s sudden understanding of the English language.

“He really likes Beggin’ Strips,” Gavin nudged him in the ribs and made his way to the kitchen.

Later that day, Michael remembered Gavin’s suggestion and picked up some of the treats (to which Gavin was, of course, overjoyed). It wasn’t surprising to Michael when he discovered Faffydill became his friend when he held out one of the falsely flavoured bacon strips. After four of the treats, Michael was sure he had made it onto the pooch’s good side.

After a romp in the sheets with his boy, it was discovered otherwise. With the door shut behind them, they hadn’t heard the chaos that was enveloping the living room (it could have been partly Gavin’s fault as well). The bag of treats had been shredded, and the wrinkly pug was lying in the middle of the floor with an incredibly satisfied look upon his face.

“That was a fucking ten dollar bag of treats, and this prick ate every single one of them,” Michael said through gritted teeth, beginning to collect the various bits and pieces of plastic. “I thought we were friends, you little shithead,” he poked at the—now even fatter—belly of the pug.

“You shouldn’t have left them on the table, you dope,” Gavin said from behind him.

“Oh, because you allowed room for rational thinking,” the redhead pursed his lips at the statement.

And then Faffydill decided he’d enjoyed the treats so much, he wanted to enjoy them again—and threw up. Before the fiery New Jerseyan could lunge at the critter, his boyfriend was there to save the day.

“It’s been two fucking days, Gavin, and he’s already proven to be a complete dick,”

“You can’t throw him out! He’ll be a wanted criminal in three days!”

“It’ll serve him right, the fuckin’ prick!”

“Michael…”

“Stop it.”

“Miiii-cooool…” Gavin whined again.

“I said stop it,” Michael sighed heavily, he was no match for that velvet tongue of Gavin’s.

“Give him another day, buy him a toy. He loves toys, and he can’t eat them whole!...well, not usually,” Gavin hugged the hound to his chest lovingly.

“Fine. One more fucking day, and if he doesn’t fix my coffee and fold my clothes at the end of it, I’m throwing him out. Drug lord or not,” he pinched the bridge of his nose and sighed.

Michael decided that the next day would be completely devoted to making this dog his best friend—he was willing to do it for Gavin.

The three of them went to the park, the pet store, the park again, and even to the pier. They played fetch, bought treats, and terrorised children with Faffydill’s crazy eyes. Michael even shared a bit of ice cream with him.

“Do you think he likes me yet?” he asked Gavin, who was holding the beast in question in his lap as it hung its head out the car window. The only response was a giant smile from both man and man’s best friend.

The evening went without much chaos other than the usual dog mishaps of small portions of dinner being stolen. Then Faffydill got a stomach ache and released it all over Michael’s (finally clean) shoes. Apparently ice cream hadn’t been a good idea.

“I’m done! I’ve done everything I can fuckin’ do!” Michael pressed his hands over his eyes, and then felt a pressure on his lap. He looked down to see the idiot dog staring up at him, and Gavin looking at him expectantly.

The look on Faffy’s face began to resemble that of his owners: big, dumb and dewy. He sighed and patted the imbecile on the head, causing him to roll over in his lap. Then he remembered something Gavin had said, ‘ _Make him like you! Like you did me!’_ Having no other ideas, Michael scooped the dog into his arms and held him close. The dog panted happily, his tongue hanging loosely out of the corner of his mouth. Both eyes seemed to finally transfix on Michael’s face, and somehow he just knew he had won the dog over. Gavin squealed happily, “My boys!”

Much to Michael’s relief, he awoke to find the apartment still in one piece with no new chews, tears, or vile presents left in the general vicinity of the bed. As he went to roll over to cuddle back up to Gavin, he discovered he had a new friend sleeping in the crook of his arm: none other than Faffydill, snoring like a human child. Michael smiled sleepily and rubbed the canine’s stomach, “You bitch,” he muttered, before gradually returning to sleep.

**Author's Note:**

> I really hope this will make up for the giant gap between chapters in Lets Break the Ice. <3


End file.
